


falling for your tendencies

by audenrain



Series: you like to captain a capsized ship [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Begging, Crossdressing, D/s, Daddy Kink, Fingerfucking, Frottage, I'm so sorry, Intercrural Sex, M/M, PWP, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 10:33:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5740321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audenrain/pseuds/audenrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John had lost the thread of the lecture several minutes ago, because apart from the golden-brown skin bared by Alexander’s stretch, there was also an edge of deep green lace that had slipped above the denim waistband.</p>
            </blockquote>





	falling for your tendencies

**Author's Note:**

> oh my god I know I still haven’t written some very important things like that negotiation conversation that – just have faith has happened prior to this fic. but sometimes you gotta write some Hamilton in lingerie, you know? you just gotta. especially when you remember that Hamilton was a notoriously flamboyant dresser.
> 
> also let’s say for the sake of realism that they have good fake IDs. I literally forgot until after I finished writing this that the drinking age in the States is 21, and I don’t feel like reworking anything.
> 
> title from July Talk's "Black Lace".

 

For all the pride John took in his ability to read Alexander, he seriously doubted there would ever come a day when Alexander could not, on any whim or inclination, still surprise him.

Alexander, for his part, took pride in his unpredictability.

(And if there was any question of that, it would have been squashed last Fourth, when he’d turned up to the campus barbeque in a pair of honest-to-goodness stars-and-stripes leggings and, in answer to Jefferson’s choked-out “ _What_ —”, drawled, “Because I love America, obviously.”)

In fact, when he was in a good mood – and this definitely qualified, these first couple weeks of classes, when midterms were a distant stormcloud and Alexander was still well ahead on his readings – it became something of a game to him, catching John off-guard. For one thing, he got a lot better about feeding himself and getting a semi-healthy amount of sleep. Once or twice, he was the first one to close his textbooks; the night before last, he’d actually prodded John to take a break so they could go get fries before the cafeteria closed for the night.

Then there were the less innocent surprises. There was sitting in class and having his eye constantly caught by the distinct gap between t-shirt and jeans. Alexander was stretched out in his chair in an astonishingly long sprawl, legs spread wide and arms folded behind his head. It was a deliberate move to let the professor know exactly how much of an imbecile Alexander thought he was. John was a little surprised he wasn’t heckling, but then, class wasn’t even half over yet.

John, however, had lost the thread of the lecture several minutes ago, because apart from the golden-brown skin bared by Alexander’s stretch, there was also an edge of deep green lace that had slipped above the denim waistband, definitively _not_ the sensible elastic belonging to most boxers or briefs, and the way Alexander was laid out in his seat, it really was, it was…

John’s eyes darted up to find Alexander watching him, heavy-lidded and direct.

Obscene. That was the word. He looked obscene.

John tore his gaze away, down at his open notebook, and tried to connect the last thing he’d written to the professor’s current train of thought. It was a hopeless endeavour. When he finally dared to glance over again – sidelong, not moving his head an inch, making his eyes ache with the strain of reaching into his periphery – Alexander only seemed to have spread himself out further. There was a little _bow_ on the lace at Alexander’s hip – and then idly, casually, the hem of Alexander’s shirt was tugged down, and it disappeared from view.

It was, John could have sworn, half an eternity before class finally ended. He stood, leaning on Alexander’s desk while Alexander took his time, gathering his things and tucking them into his backpack before tilting his head just enough to look up at John from under his lashes.

“ _What_ are you wearing?” John murmured, leaning in and savoring the little shiver Alexander gave in response.

Alexander blinked. “Is that a veiled criticism of my outfit? I’m hurt, John.”

And damn Alexander if he didn’t know perfectly well that John wasn’t about to push anything in public, even if _he_ would have been content for them to walk around with their hands in each other’s back pockets. He stood, slow and liquid, until it brought their faces so close that John was the one to step back.

“I have class in ten minutes,” Alexander said. Then, his tone suddenly bright, he added, “I’ll see you tonight, won’t I?”

“Tonight,” John repeated, narrowing his eyes as the recollection hit him. They were all going out for drinks, to celebrate the end of the first week of classes. “Yeah.”

Alexander beamed, the picture of innocence. “Excellent! Eight o’clock. I’ll be heading straight there after my evening tutorial.”

“Uh huh.” John hoped his face was properly conveying that he knew what Alexander was up to, the little shit. Alexander brushed past him with a little kiss on the cheek.

“Tonight,” he said, a farewell and a promise.

 

 

 

Unsurprisingly, Alexander came out more than prepared to turn a simple night out with friends into an exercise in sexual frustration. Of course, John had spent the entire afternoon remembering the exact shade of green hidden beneath Alexander’s jeans, so it wasn’t much of a challenge to begin with: John was prickling with desire right from the beginning, when Alexander greeted him with a kiss to the edge of his jaw. It looked innocent enough, if a little odd, but it was there that Alexander liked to nip whenever he wanted something, an animalistic gesture of submission, murmuring hot against John’s skin, _come on, come on, please…_

Alexander ordered a cocktail that turned out to be also, _coincidentally_ , brilliantly green. “I don’t feel like beer tonight,” he said breezily when John shot him a look, holding his eyes as he licked a verdant drop from the rim of the glass.

Mulligan snorted, but nobody else made any comment, even though – and John flushed hot when he thought about it – there was very little subtlety in Alexander’s performance. He sat too close to John, pressing their thighs together, and when John slipped out at one point – ostensibly to go to the bathroom, in actuality just to splash some water on his face before Alexander actually created a conspicuous problem for him – Alexander followed within a minute.

“Don’t worry,” Alexander said, molding his front to John’s back and peering up over John’s shoulder at their reflection in the mirror. “Your hair looks perfect as always.”

John glared, water still dripping from his face. “Alexander.” His voice was low, dangerous, but Alexander just tilted his face up to show the smug curl of his lips and blinked once, slow, _slow._

“Yes,” he said, and then rose up onto the tips of his toes to lick away a bead of water sliding down John’s cheek, which was really, truly _enough_. John turned, grabbed him by the hips and spun to slam him back against the counter. Alexander’s breath rushed out of him, his eyes going from sultry and heavy-lidded to wide with alarm; everything in his body language opened up, from the spread of his legs to the arch of his spine to the way his shoulders dropped back.

John leaned in, fully intending to kiss the self-satisfied little smirk off his face, but Alexander evaded him, just barely, not quite leaning _back_ but tilting his head and tucking in his chin. His forehead pressed against John’s, its own kind of embrace, but when John ducked in closer he sucked his lower lip into his own mouth.

“What are you doing, baby girl?” John whispered, tilting his head a little further just to feel the slide of his skin against Alexander’s. Alexander’s face was too close to be in focus, impossible to read; he was pushing up into the weight of John’s body on his and stroking his fingers along John’s ribs, but still he rebuffed any attempts at a kiss.

“We should get back,” Alexander said, as if everyone at the table didn’t already know exactly what was taking them so long. John reached down, slipping just the tips of his fingers beneath Alexander’s waistband to feel the unmistakable texture of the lace and the slide of a little satin bow.

“Right,” said John. Alexander’s breath smelled sweet with whatever liquor or syrup dyed his drink that shade of green. He was pretty proud of himself for only needing a moment – a moment and a deep breath – before he stepped back and shook out his hands. “I don’t suppose you’re in the mood to leave early.”

“No,” Alexander said, straightening up and tucking his hands in his pockets with a smile. “Angelica owes me a game of darts.”

 

 

 

All in all, it was over two more hours, four more rounds of drinks – from which Alexander abstained, John noticed with relief, because they had a rule about playing, and how it didn’t happen if either of them wasn’t fit to drive – and two games of darts – the first of which went to Angelica and the second to Alexander, who insisted his advantage of sobriety had _nothing_ to do with it – before Alexander finally put a hand on his knee and said, “Let’s walk back. The fresh air will be nice.”

It was bracing, that was for sure. The cold wind stung a little, but it was exactly what John needed after the warmth of the bar, the smell of sweat and beer and Alexander pressed against him, all working together to cloud his brain. The brisk night air was far better than a splash of water on his face, and this time he had an arm tight around Alexander’s shoulders before Alexander could make any more attempts to tease. Alexander leaned into him easily, matching his pace to John’s stride.

“That was fun,” Alexander said, in a way that should have meant the evening in general, the darts and the laughter and the collective complaints about homework, except that his tone was just a little too light.

“Which part?” John muttered, tugging on a strand of Alexander’s hair. Alexander let out a little _ah_ and leaned in closer, bumping their hips together, but didn’t answer.

John let the rest of the walk pass in silence: it wasn’t far, and he didn’t quite trust himself to make innocent conversation right now. It gave him time to think, and by the way Alexander kept glancing sidelong up at him – it was cute how he thought he was being _subtle_ about it – it gave Alexander time to wonder.

He had Alexander up against the door before it had even quite closed; the impact of their bodies pushed it shut. “You fucking tease,” John hissed, and Alexander bucked up into him, grinning.

“Oh, come on,” Alexander said, and then, his tone wicked, “that was _fun_.” He nipped at John’s neck, humming a little, shifting his hips restlessly until John grabbed them and pressed them back against the door, hard, a silent command.

“That was _mean_ ,” John countered. “And it’s going to come back to bite you. You know that, right, baby girl?”

“Daddy,” Alexander whispered, sucking at the skin beneath John’s jaw, and it made John choke on his own breath – that was one Alexander had only used a handful of times, and his whole body shuddered with the shame and heat it brought, but the honeyed, broken tones of Alexander’s voice when he said it, like the word itself was a plea – John braced a hand against the door and groaned. Alexander’s fingers clutched at the hem of his shirt, brushing the bare skin beneath, plucking uselessly at the fabric, another request John denied him.

“Hands behind your back,” John told him, and Alexander huffed but obeyed.

“Come on,” Alexander sighed, still working his mouth across John’s throat, straining his neck forward although he didn’t push away from the door. “Daddy. Please.”

“ _Hush_ ,” John said, and Alexander actually did, watching him with dark hunger as he stepped back. “Lift up your arms.” He pulled off Alexander’s sweater and the shirt beneath, waiting until Alexander tucked his hands behind his back again before starting on the jeans. Alexander bit at his own lip as John carefully tugged the denim down his hips, and there – there they were, the fine, intricate lace panties he’d only caught a glimpse of before. They were better than John could have imagined – not a solid bit of fabric on them – he could see the deep flush of Alexander’s hard cock through them, and they were evidently not made to contain quite so much, because Alexander was starting to slip above the waistband.

“Oh, Alexander,” he breathed, unable to keep the admiration out of his voice. Alexander was smirking again, stretching his body a little against the door, shameless, and looked down at himself as if to say, _keep going._ John did, kept peeling the denim away and found garters, two lines of elastic that ran down Alexander’s thighs, from a garter belt that had seemed like part of the panties to _stockings_ , sheer, lace-topped stockings in a darker shade of green, and John temporarily forgot how to breathe. Alexander stepped out of the jeans, kicked off his shoes – he had socks on underneath, overtop of the stockings, and that was almost a little funny, the contrast of the practical gray with the silky-sheer green – he toed those off, too, and then cocked his hip and stood there, posing for John like something out of a magazine.

“Get on the bed,” John rasped, reaching back and pulling his shirt over his head, emerging to see that Alexander had wasted no time in obeying and was already spread out on top of the covers, watching, rapt. John fumbled at the fastenings on his pants, forcing himself not to go so fast he ripped something, because the need to feel Alexander’s skin against his own was suddenly overwhelming.

Alexander was, incredibly, still holding his tongue, even as John straddled his hips and wove a hand through his hair and squeezed – his breath hitched, but he stayed quiet. John hadn’t really expected him to listen to the shushing – it was thrilling, a rare honour, but then, he sort of missed the begging. Alexander rolled his hips up, impatient, and John ran his thumb over Alexander’s bottom lip – laughed when Alexander’s tongue darted out to lick the pad of it – and then said, “You can talk, baby.”

It was like a dam cracking open. Alexander’s words flooded out, running together, frantic and breathless.

“John, come on, come on, I need you, I need you inside me, _please_.” Alexander was fairly writhing beneath him, his hands roaming, grasping at John’s back, arms, hips. “Just – fuck me already, come on, _fuck_ me—”

“Mm, I don’t know,” John said, working to keep his voice steady, casual. He leaned back, hovering, to drag his hands up Alexander’s thighs, from the scalloped edge of the stocking tops up the garter straps and to the delicate scrap of fabric that Alexander had been wearing under his skinny jeans all fucking day. His throat was thick with want but he wasn’t about to give in now, when Alexander had been driving him to distraction, and taking malicious pleasure in it too. Alexander arched up, but John’s hands stayed at his hips, over the little satin bows there, pointedly ignoring Alexander’s cock where it was jutting out above the lace.

“You look so good, baby girl,” John went on, tilting his head and raking his eyes over Alexander, who was all but preening under his gaze. The panties would not come off without first the removal of the garters and belt, and then who could say if the stockings would stay up? “I hate to unwrap you.”

“I promise,” Alexander said, tugging at his arms, pulling him back down, “this will not be the last time you see me dressed up.”

“It better not,” John murmured, a hair’s breadth from Alexander’s lips, taking a moment to picture how good Alexander would look in black, in dark red, in creamy white silk…

“Fuck me,” Alexander said again, and then kissed him, and kissed him, whispering the words between each one. “John, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me—”

“It’s not just that, though,” John went on, shaking his head. “You were such a nuisance today, such a _tease_. I don’t know if I can reward that.”

“I’ll be good, I can be good—”

“But you _weren’t_.”

“John, John, _Daddy_ —”

John hummed as if in thought and then pulled away, leaning over Alexander to reach into his bedside table; Alexander strained up to press open-mouthed kisses to his chest as he rummaged in the drawer for the lube.

“Turn over,” he said, landing a sharp little tap on the side of Alexander’s thigh. Alexander scrambled to obey, getting up on elbows and knees, arching his back and spreading his legs, but John made an _ah-ah_ sort of noise, admonishing, and pushed at the outsides of his knees until his legs came together again.

“But—”

“I’m fucking you,” John said, spreading the lube over his cock and then slipping a layer along the inside of Alexander’s thighs. “I didn’t say I’d fuck your ass.”

Alexander let out a wounded noise, dropping his head down to the mattress, but he didn’t protest any more, and when John pressed up against him, he pushed back with a hunger. John stroked a hand down his spine, pleased; there was a part of him, clearly, that liked this too – being put in his place even when it meant being denied what he wanted – maybe even because it meant that. He let out a quiet moan when John’s dick parted his thighs.

“That’s my baby,” John said, and Alexander pushed back harder, fucking himself on John’s cock, his thighs shaking with the effort of pressing them together so hard.

“ _Please_ ,” Alexander choked out, although it was no longer clear what he was asking for. John didn’t bother to clarify, just kept fucking forward, his hands wrapped around Alexander’s thighs, the stocking tops a little rough beneath his palms.

“Next time,” John said, stretching out his fingers and hooking them beneath the elastic of the garters, “you’ll think twice about teasing like that.”

“Yes,” Alexander agreed, “yes, yes—”

John pulled the elastics out a little to snap them back against his skin, and Alexander gasped, jolting underneath him.

“Yes,” he said again, his hands fisting in the blankets. “I will, I will. _Daddy_ —”

John’s hips jerked at that, his dick sliding higher and brushing the lingerie, and the heat of Alexander and the rasp of the lace were too much. John came like that, on the shining skin of Alexander’s thighs, feeling raw and wrecked and like the thick musky air of the dorm had sunk beneath his skin, into his blood, into his pounding heart. Alexander’s shoulders were shaking when John finally turned him over onto his back and kissed him.

Alexander’s mouth fell open for him, his arms winding around John’s neck to hold him there even though his breath was ragged and his chest heaving. He was biting John’s lips, a bit sharper than usual, and then licking over the swollen skin.

“You okay?” John asked, finally breaking away to let them both catch their breath. Alexander wouldn’t let himself breathe, though, kept kissing messily along John’s jawline.

“Better – if you’d let me come,” he panted, dragging a hand down John’s back, his nails scraping, and John thought, _wild, he’s wild—_

It was that, the implication that if John told him not to he really wouldn’t, would just wipe John come from his skin and go to bed unsatisfied – that was what won him a little pity. John pushed a leg between Alexander’s thighs.

“You can come,” he said. “But I’m not going to help you.”

Alexander didn’t have to be told twice. The hand at the small of John’s back pressed him down, and Alexander bucked up hard, building up a frenetic rhythm as if he feared he had a time limit, as if at any moment John would just get up and leave him.

“Please, fuck me, just – fingers, I don’t care, just fuck me,” Alexander begged, his fingertips digging into John’s back almost to the point of pain. “I need your fingers, Daddy, I was good…"

John considered, reaching over to top of the bedside table where the lube was sitting. “You can pick,” he said, flicking the cap open and shut with a satisfying click. “My fingers or my leg. You can’t have both.”

Alexander groaned, long and agonized, his hips pushing up and up and then stalling, and he pressed his face into John’s shoulder. “Fingers,” he said at last, spreading his legs wider and bending a knee so John could push a slick hand up beneath the lace. John rose up on his knees so there was no chance of Alexander getting any other relief, and slipped one finger inside of him.

Alexander’s moan was almost a shout; John was momentarily torn between the urge to put a hand over his mouth, because dorm room walls were _thin_ , and the desire to make him do it again.

“More,” Alexander whispered, his hips rolling up against nothing, his cock leaking against his stomach above the panties. “John, I can take more, please, give me more.”

And ordinarily he would stretch it out longer, but Alexander was so pliant, so polite, and his eyes were so hazy. He looked entirely at John’s mercy, and John finally felt inclined to grant it. He added another finger, kissed the corner of Alexander’s mouth and felt Alexander’s slow, shaky exhale against his cheek.

“Yeah?” John murmured, pressing in deep and curling his fingers until Alexander yelped, his eyes falling shut.

“Oh,” Alexander said, turning his face to brush his nose against John’s. “Yeah.”

John fucked him slow and careful, kissing him; he was mostly too overwhelmed to kiss back, but he made these sweet little whimpers of encouragement. When John touched a third fingertip to his entrance alongside the other two, he rocked his hips up. He took it so well - John could never believe how easily Alexander opened up for him, how desperate he was to be filled.

“I know you can come from this,” John said softly, dragging his fingers over Alexander’s prostate until Alexander whined. He did it again, and again, his thumb rubbing at the skin behind Alexander’s balls. “You love being stretched out for me, even when it’s not my cock – you just love to be taken, baby girl—”

“Yes,” Alexander gasped, and let out a string of them, _yesyesyesyes—_

He came over his own stomach, his cock twitching against the panties, his hips pushing up into empty air.

John cleaned him up, digging the wet wipes out from under the bed, unhooking the garters and gently peeling away the wet lace, kissing the quivering muscle of Alexander’s thigh as he pulled off the stockings. Alexander hardly moved except to squirm closer when John lay back down next to him, on his side because the damn bed was so narrow. He kissed behind Alexander’s ear, running a hand over his hair.

“Alexander?” he said, leaning up to see his face.

“I’m good,” Alexander mumbled, turning onto his side too and fitting his back into the curve of John’s front. “Put your arm around me.”

John obliged, wrapped an arm around Alexander’s middle and tugged him closer.

“Fuck,” Alexander added, emphatically. “You motherfucker.”

 John laughed into the sweat-damp nape of his neck. “You _were_ good,” he said, kissing the notch at the top of Alexander’s spine. “In the end.”


End file.
